


Nightfall

by takethewatch (fraternite)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, extra scene from The Courage of Stars, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 12:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11944428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraternite/pseuds/takethewatch
Summary: “I’m cold,” he says out loud, and his voice is high and shaky, like a little child’s.Courfeyrac wishes there was someone was here to hear him.





	Nightfall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talefeathers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talefeathers/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Courage of Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5078137) by [fraternite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraternite/pseuds/fraternite). 



> [this fic is Julia's fault because she said in a comment: "and now i'm spiraling into grief about the fact that courfeyrac of all people, C O U R F E Y R A C died A L O N E hahaha Who Do You Think You Are"]
> 
> [seriously this is the most ridiculous angsty bullshit don't read this]

It’s cold.

It shouldn’t be cold; it’s early summer.

But his limbs are trembling, and his fingers are going numb.

“I’m cold,” he says out loud, and his voice is high and shaky, like a little child’s.

Courfeyrac wishes there was someone was here to hear him.

* * *

Just five minutes ago (ten?  Time has gone strange, slowing down and speeding up in untrackable waves) Courfeyrac was on his feet in front of the battered desk in the housing unit, screaming like a madman at a fuzzy video feed.  Feuilly had just broken away from the TEC guards who had stopped him, and he’d lost him as he ran out of the frame; the sounds of feet on the pavement had been lost in the other noise from the square.  As Courfeyrac craned his neck in a pointless attempt to see past the edge of the video window, the soldiers peered into the camera lens and tried to figure out what was going on; who Feuilly had been sending images to.  

“We can trace the signal,” one of the guards said.  Courfeyrac didn’t care.

“Do it,” the officer barked.

“Come on, come on, just tell me about Feuilly,” Courfeyrac wailed.  “ _ Did he get away? _ ”

Behind the guards, maybe from the opposite side of the square, came the rattle of gunfire.

A message from Park was flashing on the console:  _ Courfeyrac get out of there!! _

Courfeyrac typed back:  _ just a mintue i have to knweo about feuilly _

“We’ve got the address, sir.”

_ you’ll get caught _

Courfeyrac shook his head.  He’d seen Feuilly’s face when he came back to the housing pod--slick with sweat, his jaw clenched like he was about to be sick.  He’d been terrified.  

And it was hardly a surprise, given what had happened when he’d been captured before.  No way was Courfeyrac letting him go through that again.  If Feuilly had been caught, Courfeyrac had to know.  Even if it meant ending up in the TEC basements with him.

The soldiers had covered up the camera lens, so all Courfeyrac could see was darkness, but they hadn’t remembered to cover the microphone, or didn’t know where it was, and he could hear heavy footfalls.   _ In a few minutes you won’t need the feed to hear them, _ a voice whispered in his head, but he shrugged it off.

Then a new voice, out of breath: “We couldn’t catch him, sir--the runner?  He got away.”

Courfeyrac whooped aloud, pumping his fist in the air.  Feuilly was safe.  He wouldn’t go through that hell again.  Quickly he typed,  _ feuillys ok im going thanks for everything _

And then opened the door to find the first guards three feet away.

There was no way to run.

He backed into the housing pod.  (The space that had once been a cozy shelter from BCA’s summer storms was a trap now, a blind alley.  A dead end.)  It took two of the guards less than a minute to smash the computer terminal.  And that was it for the link to the rest of the galaxy.  The people of BCA were alone once again.

Before the guards had even finished ripping cords from the wall and stomping on gritty shards of electronics, the others had Courfeyrac backed into a corner.

They weren’t in a mood to talk.

He raised his hands to shield his face, but in the end, it didn’t make any difference.

* * *

They’ve left him splayed out on the floor in the middle of the room, and he can’t handle it.  It makes him feel more alone, more exposed, than he already is.  He’s not sure if he can move, but he tries.

One arm isn’t responding at all, and he’s not really sure what his legs are doing.  Everything’s confused, and lifting his head even inches sends crushing waves of pain pounding over him.  With the one good arm and maybe with his feet, he manages to drag himself under the desk.  It’s a little better.

He’s still cold, though.

And afraid.

He’s going to die, right?  He doesn’t know what it feels like, but the room looks like it’s evening instead of late morning, and he’s cold and sick and he can’t think straight.  That probably means he’s dying.

And, oh god, he wants to be brave like Enjolras would, like Feuilly was when he ran back out into the fighting even after almost collapsing before . . . but he can’t do this all alone.  He just--he just wants somebody to hug him.

One more time?

Everyone is gone; this house should be full of people, but they’re all gone, and Courfeyrac can’t remember where they went.  He tries to get up, to go look for them, but the room is spinning, and his arms give out under him.  

“Enjolras!” he calls, his voice cracking.  “Feuilly!  Bossuet!”

Why doesn’t anyone come?  His head hurts so bad, he’s going to throw up.  There’s blood on the floor.  It’s almost night, and he’s all alone and the house is so cold.

“Please,” he sobs.

But no one comes.

Courfeyrac closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch the world grow dark.

* * *

There’s a moment when he drifts back up from whatever deep place he was in--not quite all the way back, but close enough.  Enough to feel the hand wrapped around his, the fingers softly brushing back his hair.  He hears, faintly, someone crying.  Feuilly.  

He tries to open his eyes, but he can’t.

He tries to say Feuilly’s name, to beg him not to cry, to promise him that everything’s going to be okay, but hs mouth is numb.

He pulls on all the strength he has left and he thinks--he hopes--he gets his fingers to move.   _ I’m still here.  I love you. _

Feuilly’s hand squeezes back.

**Author's Note:**

> @julia he didn't :)


End file.
